


It's Not Cricket

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-14
Updated: 2006-03-13
Packaged: 2018-08-16 05:51:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8089969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Trip forgets something important. Cricket, Ferris wheels, and the ties that bind. (01/12/2006)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Parts of the structure of the first couple of scenes of this story were inspired by an SG: Atlantis story I've read recently. It challenged me to try the same type of treatment at  
the beginning of this story. However, I don't remember which story, or the author's name, so my apologies on that. "It's not cricket" is a British expression that means, "It's not fair."  
  
Beta: SueC, with thanks  


* * *

As they passed the eighth planet of the system, the shuttlepod's instruments lit up in a burst of light and sound. "Woah," Travis said from the pilot's seat beside Trip, his focus held by the monitors in front of him. "There's a data stream coming through in a language..."

Hoshi interrupted from her position just behind him. "It seems like a variation of Kengarian," she said as she stared over his shoulder. She looked down at her padd, nodding slightly as she read. "Definitely a variation of Kengarian. But...hmm," her voice trailed off as she concentrated.

Malcolm, from the back of the ship, said, "I thought this system had long since been deserted?"

Trip kept his eyes on the streaming data. "The Vulcan database said that this system was uninhabited, the residents of the central planet having disappeared over four generations ago."

Travis nodded, his hands flying over the controls. "They're awful chatty for people who aren't there."

"Hoshi," Trip said over his shoulder. "Any idea what they're saying?"

"Not yet. But I'm not sure it's actual people down there. It may be a recorded message."

"What do you mean?" Trip replied, spinning his chair to face her.

"It seems to be a series of the same phrases, repeated over and over."

"Can you reach Enterprise?" Trip asked, turning back to his instruments.

"No. Like the Vulcans said, the distortion in this region is too strong. We won't be able to get in touch with Enterprise until we leave the system."

Travis added, "Even if we left now, it would take at least an hour..."

Trip tuned out Travis' voice as he watched the information flow across his screen. He thought he'd seen—

"Travis, can you show that again?"

Travis made a quick adjustment to the controls, and the same data played across the instrument for a second time.

Trip simply stared at it for a moment. Then he said, "Again, please," and the data flowed across the screen once more. "See if you can land here," Trip said to Travis, pointing at one piece of data in the information streaming across their instruments.

Malcolm, now behind him, put one hand on Trip's chair. "Commander," he said, frowning as Trip looked back over his shoulder. "We know nothing about these people. It would be better to gather more information, then leave the system so we can communicate with Enterprise before we land."

Trip shook his head impatiently. "I don't think we have time."

"Why not?" Malcolm said.

Trip jabbed a finger at the instrument in front of him. "Because that is a Xindi energy signature."

* * *

"It's not far now," Travis said, looking up from his padd and nodding in the direction they were walking. "The signature is coming from about two kilometres in that direction."

"I still don't see why we had to land so far from the city," Hoshi said, flashing a nervous smile to Travis beside her, their feet raising dust from the empty road.

"Do you remember the Xindi?" Trip snapped from his position behind her.

"Yes, Commander. I do," she replied, not looking at him.

Trip let his tone soften. "We don't know who these people are, or even IF these people are, or why there's a Xindi signature in the middle of their city. Better to land far away and walk in quietly, then land close by and announce our presence."

Hoshi nodded, still not looking at him. She moved forward to where Malcolm was on point.

After a long moment, Trip said, "I'm an idiot," under his breath.

Travis slowed and fell into step with him. "She's still bothered by what happened when she was captured."

Trip nodded slowly. "I know." And he did know, he thought as he walked beside Travis. He thought of his sister, murdered in the Xindi attack on Earth, and he felt a sharp twist in his gut. Perhaps better than anyone, he knew.

* * *

It looked kind of like a stuck ferris wheel, thought Trip as he stared up at its top, at least nine meters up, the curved, silver edge framed against the twilight-lit clouds. Definitely not a Xindi ship, or weapon, although the Xindi-like readings were definitely coming from something inside the huge device in front of him. He rolled his neck, trying to work off some of his tension.

Why would Xindi tech be here, on this deserted planet? If it even was Xindi—he wasn't sure about that, now that they were closer.

He reached out a hand to trace the elegant swoop of one of the device's supports—he'd always been a sucker for new tech, never could resist. His finger touched the surface, which was oddly warm in the cool of the evening air, and he smiled, anxiety gone, suddenly lost in memories of childhood carnivals...cotton candy that always made him sick, and he'd go on the rides and make himself sicker, half on purpose, making himself dizzy, and he'd always wished he had the whole park to himself, no lines, and God, his sister used to love the ferris wheel—

"I wouldn't..." Travis said just as the support lifted up, revealing a panel covered in green swirling figures.

Trip shook his head against the onslaught of memories, then focused on the panel before him. Text, he supposed as his eyes traced the swirls. He pulled his hand back as Hoshi stepped forward with a surprised look.

"One moment, please," Malcolm said, and Hoshi nodded as he moved into place beside Trip and began scanning the panel.

Trip said to Hoshi, "Any idea what this says?"

Hoshi shook her head. "I'm not even sure that it's writing."

As Trip reached a finger out again, intending to trace the figures, he felt a hand on his arm. "Not a good idea, Commander," Malcolm said. Trip nodded without looking at him, eyes still tracing the intricate patterns.

As his teammates worked beside him, each focused on their own analysis, Trip stepped a bit closer to the panel, hand hovering just over the "writing", if that's what it was, swirling and swooping before him. Before he even realised it, he'd touched it, lightly, with the tip of one finger. He felt a rush of warmth spread from his finger, up his arm, to his cheeks, his toes, everywhere. His whole body felt warm, and soft, and comfortable, and he watched as the pattern of the swirls began shifting as he stared. That couldn't be right, he thought vaguely. He sighed, and that concern drifted away with the last of the tension of the day, his life, everything.

At the edge of one of the curves, to the left of the panel, there was a small, circular whorl, and he traced his finger along the surface until his palm rested across it. Without even looking, he knew that there would be a similar spiral on the right side of the panel, just out of his reach. Two people, he thought. Whatever this is, it needs two people to—

"Um, Malcolm?" he said quietly, so low that only his friend, working next to him, would hear. Before Malcolm could answer, Trip let go of the device. He reached across and took Malcolm's wrist, quickly guiding his friend's hand onto the rightmost spiral, letting go so that he could place his own left hand back on the instrument.

Nothing happened.

"Commander?" Malcolm said, his face expressing his surprise.

Trip was just about to pull away from the panel when there was a rush of noise and lights, and he looked up to see the ferris wheel spinning above him. Spinning? he thought as the world shifted and fell away.


	2. Chapter 2

"Carnivals were never my favorite thing as a kid," Trip said as he and Malcolm wandered down the empty midway, the lights and noises from the games and rides surrounding them. "I mean, I liked 'em and stuff, but they're more my sister's thing. She loves them." He turned back, still walking, and stared up at the unmanned ferris wheel whirling high above him. "But I did always want to go to one that was empty."

"Why?" Malcolm said.

"No lines," Trip replied. "Too bad Lizzie isn't here, though. She loves this stuff." His smile fell away as he stared up at the ferris wheel spinning above him. He shook his head and said, softly, "Maybe next time."

Malcolm laughed. "So what was your favorite?"

"Hmm?" Trip said vaguely, still staring up at the ride whirling above him. He wrapped his arms around himself, suddenly chilled in the warm night air. Something was missing. He felt like he'd forgotten something important, and—

"If not carnivals, then what was your favorite?"

Trip spun around, facing forward again. "Football," he said, miming a pass to be sure that Malcolm understood which "football" he was referring to. "Playing it, watching it, I loved it all." He spied a cotton candy stand and strode to it, helping himself to a paper cone, which he then stuck down into the sugary pink floss spinning below him. He wound himself a huge ball and held it up proudly. "Want some?" Malcolm simply shook his head, and Trip took a bite, crunching the sweet fluff between his teeth and sucking on it as it melted away. "What was your favorite thing?" he asked around his sticky mouthful.

"Cricket."

Trip hesitated a second as he pondered the best way to respond. Finally, he admitted, "I never really got that game."

"It's brilliant."

Trip grimaced. "Doubt that," he said, taking another bite before he pitched the still-full cone into the nearest trash bin.

Malcolm sighed. "Listen, have you ever actually played?"

"Cricket? You mean, the game?"

"Yes, I mean the game. Cricket, the game."

Trip hesitated a moment, then finally said, "You know I'm American, right?"

"What does that have to do with..."

Trip shifted, then tried to explain. "It's not like cricket is actually something we played growing up. I mean, I know it has something to do with..." He glanced away, then back to Malcolm again. "Bats?" At Malcolm's incredulous look, he tried again. "Guys in white sweaters running back and forth," he said, making frantic side-to-side movements with his hands.

"You are kidding."

Trip simply shook his head. "I just don't think it's an American thing."

"It's not as if it's genetic," Malcolm said with puzzled sarcasm. "We played it in San Francisco. I mean, there was a whole league. There were even Americans on my side."

"There were? Like who?"

"Rajit Gupta, for one. Alex Ramjattan, Clayton Mitchell, Nassir Muhammad..."

"Weren't most of those guys of Indian decent?"

"Nassir's father was from Pakistan."

"And Clay, wasn't he originally from Guyana?"

"Yes, but..."

"My point is, unless you're born into it..."

"Listen, it's really not that hard," Malcolm said, seeming a bit exasperated. "Someone once told me it has similarities to baseball." Then he arched an eyebrow. "In fact, I have a match on vid. You could stop by sometime and..."

Trip shook his head, thinking about the last baseball game he'd seen. He'd been sick-to-death from boredom, just from baseball—watching cricket would probably kill him. "You know I'd do anything for you," he said, placing a hand on Malcolm's shoulder. "But..." he let his voice trail away as the images streamed—cricket players moved on the field, their actions seemingly random. Occasionally someone would run back and forth between two posts. But both the pitching and the batting was all wrong, and...He shook his head in exasperation and he blinked, hard, pulling Malcolm's face into focus before him. His friend seemed to be rapt as he stood there, completely focused on the activity on the field before them.

Field? Trip thought, turning full-around in a sudden flash of clarity. Where had this field come from? Where had the carnival gone? His heart hammered in his chest as he turned back to the game, staring at the players.

Hadn't he just been at a carnival? And a carnival, how had that...why would there be...he stared as the players shifted on the field, one man in white leaning on something almost but not entirely unlike a baseball bat. There was something wrong, something he'd forgotten, something important—he thought there had been a ship, and—

Trip's focus snapped back to the game as the field erupted into a loud chorus of "Hoooowwwzaaaattt". He blinked and straightened, watching everyone on the field turn towards what must be the umpire, throwing their arms in the air as they continued the sound.

After close to a minute of this, Trip finally said, "Um, Malcolm?"

"Hmm?" Malcolm replied, still focused on the match.

"What the hell is going on?" he asked over the chorus. When Malcolm turned to him, he said, "I know you love this game, but..."

Malcolm's brow wrinkled, and then he seemed to have a brainstorm. "You follow baseball, yes?" he asked.

Trip shook his head. "Not so much."

"You understand the game, though?"

Trip nodded.

"Good." Malcolm nodded sagely. "Cricket is similar to baseball, but where baseball is mostly about power, cricket is more about finesse."

"Right," Trip said hesitantly.

"Hold on," Malcolm said, and he turned and rummaged through his satchel—Satchel? Trip thought briefly. That was odd—he could have sworn that the bag wasn't there a second ago. As Malcolm pulled out some paper and a pen, which also seemed kind of odd, Trip frowned, trying to figure out what, exactly, was wrong. It was kind of like he'd forgotten something, something important, but damned if he knew what that was.

Malcolm sat on the grass, facing Trip, the pad between them. Trip shrugged and sat down.

"In cricket, there are two teams, with eleven players each, instead of baseball's nine." When Trip nodded, Malcolm smiled, then began to draw. "Instead of four bases, there are only two, in the middle of the field, sixty-six feet apart. All running is between these two bases..."

Malcolm continued to explain the action as they watched, each time trying to equate what was happening to baseball, occasionally drawing something on the pad to demonstrate. Trip, surprised, found that he actually understood—well, certainly not all of it, but some.

In fact, as they continued to watch, Trip found himself oddly fascinated. It was sort of like watching baseball, if you put baseball on sedatives, but more intricate, and less boring for that.

As the game—no, wait—match, Trip corrected himself. As the match progressed, he found himself understanding more and more. Even some of the terms that Malcolm was using were becoming clearer, although much of it was still gibberish.

After one such dialogue, Trip said, "So, to say 'Smith bowled seven overs', is saying..."

Malcolm smiled a bit, but didn't give the answer.

Trip thought a moment, then said, "Smith threw 42 pitches, in sets of six?" At Malcolm's answering nod, Trip leaned back in his chair. "I am a cricket master!" he said. Then he smiled at Malcolm. "I think my favorite bits are the tea breaks."

"Well, it's not as if they're actually having tea," Malcolm said. "More of a snack break."

"Beer?"

Malcolm nodded. "Sometimes."

"Good game," Trip said, nodding sagely.

* * *

The match ended and Trip, still sitting next to Malcolm, watched as first the players disappeared, then the pitch itself faded into grey fog, leaving only him, Malcolm, and their patch of grass. Trip thought that maybe that should worry him, because that certainly didn't seem normal, but he didn't mind—the sun, although he couldn't actually see it through fog, was warm and comfortable.

Although it was not quite fog, more of a grey not-there-ness, and that should also worry him. But the grass below him smelled nice, like fresh-cut grass should, and he ruffled his fingers through it, pulling up a few blades. He liked it here. Wherever here was.

And Malcolm—Malcolm puzzled him. He wasn't quite sure how he knew the man. Certainly weren't any Brits that he knew from around Panama City, but he obviously knew this one from somewhere, and really well for that. But he couldn't remember from where, or why, and in the end, he supposed it didn't really matter. More important was to address the issue at hand, the one question that had been nagging at him for some time—"How do you know so much about baseball?" he finally asked.

After a moment of hesitation, Malcolm answered. "I'm not entirely sure."

"Have you ever watched it?"

"No."

"Odd."

"Hmm," Malcolm replied.

"My sister is a huge baseball fan. Huge."

"I'd like to meet her sometime."

"Yeah," Trip said vaguely. He looked at Malcolm. "I feel like I'm forgetting something. Something important."

Malcolm nodded and turned his face to the sky, his eyes shutting. "Sun's nice."

Trip turned his own face up, soaking in the warmth, and he closed his eyes. "Only thing missing is the ocean," he said softly.

"The Irish Sea," Malcolm whispered from beside him.

"Nah," Trip replied. "Too cold. Gulf of Mexico."

Trip heard waves in the distance, and the calls of gulls, and he smelled the salt on the air, and he smiled.


	3. Chapter 3

Trip dozed on the grass, head pillowed in his palms as he enjoyed the feel of the sunlight. It felt like years since he'd simply sat in the sun. And it had been, really, since he'd...

He almost had it—there was a ship, but not an ocean-type ship...he wasn't sure. Something...he'd forgotten, but he knew that his normal state of being did not entail lying on the grass, basking in the sun, ocean breezes, carnivals, or cricket games. He felt like it was just out of reach.

Maybe if he focused, forgetting about the sun, and the grass, and the ocean, it would come back to him. Someone had once tried to teach him meditation, and he slipped into some of those techniques, focusing on his breathing, trying to center his thoughts on what he was forgetting without actually focusing on it, just letting his mind gently trace the outline.

A star ship.

Right, right, Trip thought, trying not to think to hard and chance the memory away. There had been a starship. He knew Malcolm from the ship. He tried to focus on that memory, swirling it gently in his mind, and cautiously probed it further. The ship, Enterprise. Right, right.

The rest came back in a rush. There had been a planet, and a device, a ferris wheel, then the cricket, and the Gulf, and...

And his sister was dead.

Trip came to himself in a rush, his head pounding, nausea making his gut roil in protest. He heard people talking and he groaned, the noise making his headache worse. He heard Malcolm's voice, and Archer's, and—his eyes flashed open. His own. He'd heard his own voice and suddenly he was fully awake.

"What?" he spat, looking around the too-bright room through his squint. He was in sickbay, sitting upright on the biobed, and there was someone standing in front of him.

"Trip?" came Archer's voice, and Trip blinked hard, clearing his vision.

"Yeah, who else," he muttered grumpily. He took in Archer's worried expression, and he took a breath, trying to calm himself through his confusion. He could see Malcolm across the room, sitting on another bed with his back to him, but he directed his questions to Archer. "What's happening? Who were you talking to?"

"When?" Archer replied, obviously puzzled, nodding distractedly when Phlox moved in beside him.

"Just now," Trip said, watching Phlox warily as the doctor began taking readings of him. "Who were you talking to?"

"You, Trip," Archer replied carefully, with a meaningful glance to the doctor.

Trip blinked, filing that one away for later. He didn't remember talking. He'd heard himself, though, but he didn't—Archer interrupted his thoughts, asking, "What do you remember?"

Trip remembered everything now: Enterprise, his sister, the planet. There had been an odd ferris wheely thing, and he remembered touching it, and, "Oh," he said aloud. "How long has it been since we came back from the planet?"

"Three days," Archer said.

"And the Xindi?"

Archer shook his head. "Hoshi mentioned you'd thought..."

"But the signature," Trip said, leaning forward on the bed, his hands clenching its edge.

"We analysed the data. There was no Xindi signature."

Trip's words tumbled out in a rush. "But we saw—What about the ferris wheel? And the cricket?"

Phlox lowered his scanner. "You saw insects?"

"Oh," Trip said, deflating. "No. Something else." His brow knit. "What happened?"

"You and Malcolm touched the device," Archer explained in the voice Trip normally liked to think of as his "calming the crazy aliens voice". "You stood there for a few seconds before Hoshi pulled you away. Then you both collapsed."

"We passed out?" Trip asked.

Phlox shook his head. "Ensign Sato said you were both conscious and responsive."

"You've been conscious the entire time," Archer added. "Just not quite yourself."

"Perhaps what you saw," Phlox added. "The ferris wheel, the crickets— were an effect of the device you touched? Hallucinations, or..."

But Trip was not listening. He'd been conscious this entire time, and talking? He didn't remember any of that. What he did remember didn't seem like an hallucination, or a dream. It seemed real.

That Xindi signature certainly had seemed real. Although his sister...God, how could he have forgotten that she'd died? Or Enterprise, he'd forgotten that entirely. How could he have forgotten things that were so central to his life?

Lost in thought, Trip lay down on the bed, on his side, curling in on himself. He barely heard Archer leave, didn't acknowledge Phlox when he said something, scarcely noticed the lights dim and the sounds of sickbay move from daytime rustle to the relative peace of night.

Trip woke sometime later, the dim light of sickbay filtering through his eyelids. Someone had draped a blanket across him in the night, and he pulled it in tighter.

Nothing about this made any sense.

Someone moved near him, and he opened his eyes to see Malcolm standing beside his bed, in scrubs, his hair in disarray, dark circles under his eyes.

"Sorry to wake you," Malcolm said quietly, sinking into the chair next to his bed.

"You didn't," Trip replied in an equally soft voice. "You look like shit."

"As do you," Malcolm said with half a smile.

"I suppose you have me to thank for that," Trip said sombrely, pushing himself to sitting, but keeping the blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

"Not your fault," Malcolm said, suddenly completely serious.

They stared at each other for a moment. Finally, Trip asked, "Do you remember?"

Malcolm shook his head. "Not as they tell me I should. Although I remember you making me touch the device." He hesitated a moment, then leaned forward in the chair, arms resting on his knees. "I remember the big wheel," he said, his face showing his confusion. "And candy floss."

"And cricket," Trip added.

Malcolm nodded. "And grass."

"The ocean." Trip smiled for a second, remembering. "So, not a dream."

"No, I'd think not."

"And the last three days?"

"It's as if I just woke up today," Malcolm said, leaning back in his chair. "Although, from what the captain and Phlox are saying, it seems we were 'awake' the entire time, and talking."

"Spooky."

"To say the least."

"Wonder what I said?" Trip asked, a smile ghosting across his face for a brief moment. He pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders, bunching it up in both hands as he held it closed in front of him. "I'm afraid I kind of freaked out all over the captain earlier," he said, wincing at the memory.

"I'm sure he understood,"

Trip pulled the blanket away, then lay back with it over him. "Phlox thought I saw crickets."

"Can't be worse than seeing a non-existent match, can it?"

"Suppose not."

"I'll explain the difference to him," Malcolm said, stepping to a nearby biobed.

As Malcolm pulled aside the covers and made to get in, Trip said, "Maybe you should wait a bit."

"Hmm?" Malcolm replied, hopping up onto the mattress.

"Probably make him think you're even more nuts."

"There is that."

"Ah-yup." Trip watched as Malcolm lay down and pulled up the blankets. As his friend closed his eyes, he shot across, "Night, John- Boy."

"Night, Bobby-Sue."

"Bobby-Sue?" Trip asked, chuckling. "Was that even a 'Waltons' character?"

"No idea."

"Obviously."

"Not as if I've seen the show," Malcolm added drowsily. "Didn't exactly play in England." He yawned hugely. "Or Malaysia."

"So, how do you even know about their whole end-of-show spiel? No. Wait. How do you even know that it's a show?" Trip cut himself off when Malcolm shrugged. Dryly, he added, "And yet you expect me to understand cricket."

Malcolm simply sighed and rolled away from Trip.

Trip smiled and closed his eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

Trip lay on his back, his head pillowed on his arms, his legs crossed at the ankle as he stared up at the brightly lit ceiling. His brightly lit ceiling. It was great being out of sickbay, wearing his own clothes, albeit not his uniform—both he and Malcolm were still off duty. Still, it was great to lie on his much-more-comfortable- than-a-bio bed, thinking of nothing in particular, letting his thoughts simply drift through his experiences—well, device induced hallucinations—over the past few days.

He felt fine, had felt fine since he woke up last night in sickbay. At least, once he got past the initial confusion. But the whole situation was messed up—forgetting everything he had, his missing days. And he felt fine, really he did, just—he shook his head against his worries. The doc, at least, had said that he was recovering well, that the effects of the device had worn off. He'd released them both, although not to duty, and with orders to report anything unusual.

He'd forgotten Enterprise. That, alone, was enough to seriously freak him out, but he felt okay with that. What he didn't feel okay with was forgetting that his sister was dead. It was weird—he'd been drawn in with that Xindi signature, then forgotten everything that was linked to the Xindi in his mind—Enterprise, his sister's death. There had to be a connection, but damned if he could figure out the whys and wherefores of the situation.

He reached out and triggered his lights off, then rolled over, burrowing into his pillow.

He wondered what Malcolm had forgotten. Maybe his friend was thinking of that same subject right now, he thought as he began to drift off.

As he dozed, he remembered playing cricket, one match in particular whilst he was at school. The stands had been crowded with students wearing scarves in their school colours, red and yellow striped flags waving—

Trip's eyes shot open and he triggered the lights. Squinting against their glare, he stumbled to his comm. "Um, Malcolm?" he said, his voice shaking.

"Yeah?" came the response, his friend's voice obviously blurred from sleep.

"Were your school colors red and yellow?"

"Yes," Malcolm said, his voice clearer now.

"Did you play cricket? I mean, were you just thinking about cricket, and school?

Malcolm spoke in a rush. "How did you know?"

"Hmm...I wanna try something." Trip looked around his cabin, his eyes finally resting on a picture of his sister, Lizzie. Moving slowly, he picked it up, closing his eyes against the memory of her death. Emotions crashed over him in a wave: sadness, anger, then they were gone, replaced by a memory of her as a kid, them making cookies together one Christmas eve, for Santa and his reindeer. He remembered helping her stir the mix in the bowl with a long wooden spoon, her standing on a chair so she could reach the counter. He smiled, sadness and happiness mixed at the memory.

"Damn, Trip," Malcolm said, his soft voice laden with awe and perhaps a little fear.

"Yeah," Trip said, opening his eyes and focusing once again on the photo.

After a long moment, Malcolm said, "I think this is one of the 'unusual' things we're supposed to report to Phlox."

"Yeah." Trip wiped a heavy hand across his eyes. "Tomorrow, though, all right?" Trip hesitated, then finally said, "I'm just tired. I don't have the energy to explain all this whatever it is to the doc yet."

"All right."

Trip shut off the comm. and replaced the picture on his shelf. He ran one gentle finger along the top of its frame.

* * *

The next morning Trip checked his messages and was happy to see that he'd been cleared for duty, so he dressed hurriedly and made his way to the mess. As he reached the door, he passed Malcolm, also in uniform, on his way out. "You cleared for work, too?" Trip asked, stopping in the hall as the door shut behind his friend. At Malcolm's answering nod, Trip continued. "I'll see you later, then." As he made to move past, he felt a hand on his arm.

Malcolm cast a glance down the empty corridor. When he looked back at Trip, he actually seemed a bit anxious. "You know, I'd completely forgotten about Enterprise," he said, his voice low. "On the planet. It was as if it had completely..." He hesitated, searching for the right words. "...slipped my mind."

"I did too," Trip said. He stepped away from the door, and Malcolm's hand fell from his arm. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the bulkhead. "My sister, too. I forgot that my sister had died."

"Do you think there was a reason? I mean, some sort of pattern behind why we forgot what we did?"

Trip smiled grimly.

Malcolm considered him before speaking. "Maybe those memories were linked to something..."

When he didn't finish, Trip added, "Painful."

Malcolm nodded. "Perhaps the device—

"What, could sense that?" Trip said, pushing away from the wall.

"No, no," Malcolm said with wary laughter. Both of them stopped speaking as a crewman passed them and entered the mess. When the corridor was empty again, Malcolm added, "Well, perhaps."

"If so, then why?" Trip leered comically. "So it could clear our minds to use us for its own nefarious purposes?"

Malcolm laughed slightly, then sobered. "What if that's true?"

"Excuse me?"

Malcolm held his hands up in supplication. "What if it needed our minds clear, free, so it could...I'm not sure." He shook his head. "I don't know what I mean."

As another crewman passed them, Trip said, "We'll figure it out later." He put a grin on his face that he hoped looked more genuine than it felt. "Anyway, you're about to be late..."

"...for my first shift back. Yes," Malcolm replied without enthusiasm. He turned to go, then swung back to face Trip again. "What about last night?"

Trip nodded. "We can talk about it later," he said, triggering the mess doors. As Malcolm continued to stare at him blankly, Trip gave him a pointed look. With a sharp nod, Malcolm strode down the corridor, and Trip stared at his retreating back, thoughtful.


	5. Chapter 5

If Trip had been happy to be sleeping in his own bed last night, today he was absolutely freekin' ecstatic to be back at work in engineering. Sure, Malcolm had a rep for hating sickbay and working the system until he was released, but it was really Trip who usually ended up being able to wheedle his way out of the doc's care; it was just that he'd do it in such a nice way, people didn't even realise that he was doing it. Case in point—his release from sickbay yesterday.

Trip picked up a calliper and began working on the gauge he'd set on the workbench in front of him. He knew that he and Malcolm should drag their asses back to sickbay and tell the doc about the odd, well, he'd best describe it as a link, that they'd experienced last night. But they could just as easily go to sickbay after their shifts as before them. And he needed to do something normal, to focus on the mundane business of the day, to forget about all that...forgetting.

It was liked the device had plucked the idea of the Xindi out of his head, and used that to draw him planet-side. And then making him forget the things that he had—the whole situation, thinking about it, was driving him nuts.

He stopped in his work and stared at the device before him, the calliper hanging uselessly from his hand. There was something...something niggling at the back of his mind, something wrong, but he wasn't sure what it was.

He laid the calliper carefully onto the table before him and propped both hands on its edge, leaning into it, his head hanging down. Something was different there, sort of all of a sudden, or creeping up on him. Something had changed, or was missing, or lost. His head flashed up when he realised, and he took a quick step toward the door.

Malcolm. Malcolm was sick, or something was wrong, or...Trip stumbled and the floor rushed up to meet him.

Trip woke in sickbay to Phlox's way-too-cheerful face. "You fainted, Commander," the doctor said far too brightly for the situation.

"Can't you at least say I passed out?" Trip asked as Phlox helped him sit.

"Fainted is the proper medical term," the doctor replied evenly as he moved to the side, revealing Malcolm on the next biobed over. Malcolm gave Trip a wan smile as Phlox stepped back into Trip's line of sight. "The fainting was caused by after-effects from your experience with the device. It seems that neither of you had the forethought to come to sickbay when you realised that you were still experiencing its effects," the doctor said, raising his voice as if to be sure that Malcolm could also hear. "Such lack of forethought, I believe was also caused by the device." Phlox stepped back and moved so that he could see both of them. "Neither of you, gentlemen, are acting like yourselves."

"Thought you said we were recovered," Trip said, feeling somewhat chagrined.

"I was incorrect," Phlox replied crisply. "Which I believe you both knew."

Trip blushed. "Sorry."

"Yes."

Trip heard the door open and looked up to see Archer stride through. The captain cast a guarded look at Trip as he waved Phlox away, and he and the doctor began having a discussion which Trip couldn't catch. Soon T'Pol joined them, and they adjourned into Phlox's office.

Trip exchanged a glance with Malcolm, who simply rolled his eyes.

"So, do you think we're acting, I don't know, funny?" Trip asked.

"Well, I admit that what Phlox said—that we'd normally have reported our "link" last night—does ring true, but I don't feel differently that I normally do." Malcolm frowned. "Although I did faint."

"Neither do I," Trip said. "Feel bad, I mean. I feel all right." Then he grimaced, and added, "Well, that's not exactly true. I did know that something was wrong just before I passed out. In fact, I think I knew that you'd fainted just before I did myself."

"Which seems odd."

"Very."

Archer, T'Pol and Phlox stepped back into the room. Moving to their bedsides, the captain said, "We believe that you are both still under the influence of the alien..." Archer's voice trailed away, and Phlox stepped in.

"Device."

"But I feel fine," Malcolm said.

"Yet neither of you is precisely fine," Phlox said, with emphasis on the last word. "Mr. Reed told me a bit of your experiences last night. Not only is the device allowing you to—

"Get into each other's heads," Trip added quickly.

Phlox nodded. "It is also influencing your thought processes."

"I'm thinking fine," Trip said, puzzled.

"You are not thinking as you might be if you were not under the influence." Phlox turned to Malcolm. "Are there any other symptoms that you have experienced, or odd things that happened while on the plant or after?"

Malcolm nodded. "We both forgot about Enterprise."

"And I forgot my sister's death," Trip said.

Phlox nodded dispassionately, entering this information into his notes.

Malcolm looked at Trip pointedly. "And Malcolm and I are kind of, um, linked," Trip said finally.

"Could you be more specific?"

"Well, there was that bit about the Waltons," Trip said.

Malcolm nodded. "And the school colors."

As Phlox and Archer stepped closer to Malcolm and they began talking, T'Pol moved to Trip's side. " I believe that the data you received from the planet was specifically crafted to draw you in," she said calmly.

Trip nodded slowly. "I'd figured as much," he said. "It's like it looked inside me and found the one thing guaranteed to get me down there." He cocked his head to the side. "Why do you think it did that?"

"I am not yet sure," T'Pol replied. "Ensign Sato is having trouble with the translation of the markings on the device, and additional fly-bys of the site have not generated similar signals."

Archer stepped to Trip's side. "You're off duty until this is resolved."

Trip nodded and began to slide off the bed, but the captain stopped him with a hand on his arm. Apologetically, Archer added, "And you're both confined to sickbay."

* * *

Trip was finding sleep elusive. Between the noises of sickbay, the narrow, uncomfortable mattress, and the too-thin blankets, forget it, sleep was just impossible. He turned over in frustration and stared at the back of Malcolm's head as his friend lay on the next bed over. He knew that Malcolm wasn't asleep, although he wasn't sure how he knew—it was like there was a tickle in the back of his mind. Focusing on it, he pushed a bit, and Malcolm turned towards him.

"I've got to get out of here," Trip said quietly.

"But..."

"Just to get some sleep," Trip added.

"But..."

"Just for tonight." When he saw that Malcolm was about to interject another "But," Trip added, "We're not going far."

"We?"

"I know a place." Trip wiggled his eyebrows. "And we could explore the link, see how it works. Report back to Phlox." At Malcolm's obvious doubt, he added, using all his charm, "You know, for medical science." When Malcolm didn't respond, he added, "All right, all right. I'll bring snacks."

Malcolm finally laughed.


	6. Chapter 6

Trip opened a bag of chips and, taking some, passed it over to Malcolm. He popped a couple into his mouth and sighed happily, allowing the salt and the grease—two of his favorite food groups—to mix before he started chewing joyfully.

"So...shall we test the link?" Malcolm said as he lay the bag beside him in the tight space. They'd smuggled several pillows, some blankets, as well as drinks and snacky-things into an area behind a hatch in the cargo bay. Trip had discovered this unused space early in his time on Enterprise, and had always figured it would make a good bolt-hole. There was just enough room for the two of them to lie down or to sit, as they were now doing, cross legged on top of one of the blankets.

"I suppose we should," Trip said around his mouthful. The whole situation—him and Malcolm in this tiny, rounded space, blankets spread beneath them, snacks arrayed around them—kind of reminded him of camping trips he used to take with his family, so Trip smiled and thought about one particular trip, the Florida night sky spread wide and dark above him as he and his dad sat next to their fire, the tent at their backs. He wasn't completely surprised when, next, he saw a group of boys, in uniform, sitting around a campfire in someplace that definitely wasn't Florida.

"School camping trip?" Trip asked.

"Boyscouts," Malcolm murmured. He let out a huge yawn and lay down on his side, pulling one of the blankets up as he closed his eyes.

"Interesting that we don't share all of our thoughts," Trip said, staring at his friend. "Just some."

Malcolm shrugged, his eyes still closed.

Trip smiled to himself and turning his face serious, said, "Too bad you're not a girl."

Malcolm's eyes flashed open, wary. "Why?"

"I don't know. I figure it would be interesting to try fooling around with someone I was linked to."

Malcolm grimaced.

Trip shrugged nonchalantly. Just when Malcolm closed his eyes again, Trip said, "We could try kissing."

Malcolm's eyes flashed open again in alarm. "What?"

"Nah," Trip said, waving a hand. "Forget I said that." He waited a beat, then added, "Might be interesting though."

"Commander, I..."

"No worries, Malcolm," Trip said with a smile. "I don't have any designs on you. And I'm about as straight as they come. And I'm your commanding officer."

"Right," Malcolm said. He watched Trip warily for a moment.

Trip let the silence go on. "Still..."

"Would you please stop," Malcolm finally said in exasperation.

"All right, all right," Trip said. He lay down on his own blanket and closed his eyes, listening to Malcolm's soft breathing and the pulse of the ship's engines.

"You know I was joking, right?" Trip said into the quiet. He heard Malcolm let out an annoyed sigh and he couldn't help it, he had to add, "Still..."

Malcolm shoved him and Trip laughed.

* * *

Trip drifted to wakefulness, slowly becoming aware of his surroundings. Right, they were in the bolt-hole. Sure. But something was missing.

Trip simply lay there, eyes closed, trying to figure out what was different. Something was missing. And then he realised: that tickle in the back of his mind, that constant reminder of Malcolm's presence, was gone.

Trip's eyes flashed open and he found himself staring straight at Malcolm as he friend awoke. A moment later, Malcolm's eyes widened as he also realised what had changed: their link was gone.

"So what does that mean?" Trip asked hesitantly.

"I don't know," Malcolm said softly.

Trip let out a huge breath, then shifted himself to sitting. "I guess this is good, right?"

Malcolm nodded slightly.

"Suppose we should go tell Phlox," Trip said.

"In a minute," Malcolm said as he sat up. Pulling the blanket over his shoulders, he said, "I need a moment to..."

"Adjust," Trip said, finishing Malcolm's thought.

They sat quietly for a moment, neither of them looking at the other. Trip could see Malcolm twisting the blanket in his fingers, pulling it tighter around himself.

Finally, Trip broke the silence with a muttered, "Captain's gonna kill me."

Malcolm's eyes met his. "Kill us, you mean."

"No, kill me," Trip said. "You were the voice of reason. I was one who convinced you to escape sickbay."

"I think the captain will understand," Malcolm said, and he smiled slightly. "After all, we were under an alien influence."

Trip figured that his face must have shown his uncertainty, because Malcolm said, "I hate sickbay, anyway. I was glad to get out."

Trip nodded, grateful for the support, and they lapsed into silence again.

"So, Phlox," Trip finally said. He leant forward and opened the hatch, sliding out quickly only to find Archer right there. As the captain's expression moved from surprise to anger, Trip felt the blood rush to his face.

As Malcolm slid out and stood beside him, Trip said, "We were just coming to see you."

* * *

"Their link does appear to have ended, Captain," Phlox said to a stern-faced Archer as he ran his scanner over Trip, then Malcolm, who were seated on adjacent biobeds. "I believe the influence of the device may have passed, although I would like to keep them overnight for observation."

Archer nodded sharply. "I'll post security..."

Malcolm spat a sharp, "Captain—" in protest.

"Just until I can be sure that you won't go off camping again," Archer said, turning a pointed glare on Trip.

"I'm sorry about that, Captain," Trip said, feeling sheepish.

Archer's expression softened. "I know that you weren't thinking clearly, Trip." He sighed, shook his head, then smiled a bit. "Hoshi and T'Pol figured out purpose of device." At Trip's surprise, he said, "Well, not all the details, but enough to understand what happened to two of you."

"Why we were linked?" Malcolm asked.

"Why we forgot?" Trip added.

Archer nodded. "We are not certain of the original purpose of the device—Hoshi is still working on the translations—but we did discover more about the way we believe it was supposed to work—in theory." Archer smiled slightly. "It's an interesting theory, actually. The device needs two people to control it, and it seems that those people need to be completely focused, so—

Trip interrupted. "It would temporarily wipe away any disturbing, distressing, or possibly distracting memories..."

"...and link the two beings so they could work together," Malcolm said.

Archer nodded again. "But it was not quite compatible with our physiologies."

"Thus the ferris wheels," Trip said.

"And the cricket," Malcolm added.

"Yes, the visions," Phlox chimed in. "And we believe that, with the original species, the link would terminate once the beings stopped touching the device. However, with Humans, direct contact with the device appears to leave some slight, lingering after-effects."

Trip watched as both of Malcolm's eyebrows climbed to his hairline in response to that. Trip gave voice to what he figured his friend was thinking. "Slight?"

Phlox nodded. "Captain, if you would," the doctor said, waving for Archer to follow.

As Phlox and Archer moved away to talk, Trip cast a quick glance at Malcolm. Lost in his own thoughts, Malcolm didn't notice his look, so Trip took the opportunity to really observe him. Malcolm looked better since they'd gotten some sleep the night before—more rested, certainly, but there was something...Trip looked down at his own feet as they dangled off the edge of the biobed. There was something sort of lost about the man, he thought. It was as if, now that the link was gone, he was missing something.

Trip shook his head and tapped one foot against the side of the other, then began swinging his legs gently. Nah, Malcolm wasn't lost without their link. After all, they should both be happy that it was gone, that they'd been returned to normal, released from the influence of the device. But Trip had to admit that he'd kind of liked having that link, being able to share thoughts at whim. And they'd barely explored it before it had been taken from them, and—

Trip realised what was wrong, and his legs went still. It was him that was lost.

God, he felt like he was missing his best friend. And maybe he was, in a way. It was odd—only now that the link was gone did he realise how close it had drawn him and Malcolm. And now the stupid link was gone and he was left with...what? Nothing. It was kind of lame. It just didn't seem fair—

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard Malcolm's voice. "It's not cricket."

Trip smiled and raised his eyes to meet Malcolm's. Maybe they still shared more than he'd thought.


End file.
